Jeepers Creepers 4: The Creeper Returns
by Punk19
Summary: After waking from his 23-year slumber, the Creeper finds himself faced with an issue that he's never encountered before. Will he survive the present cycle, or will he be bested?
1. The Reawakening

Insanity? Jack Taggart smiled. The little shits that came by his property had no clue what the word was, or what he went through to gain such a title. He honestly didn't care what others thought of him; with what he went through in his seventy-nine years of living, and with what he witnessed twenty-three years and two days ago, he could give a damn over whether he was seen as the little old man who was sweet or one who was just as cantankerous as can be. After seeing his youngest son being ripped up into the sky like he did, then the events of the following night, he had hardened up.

Claire, his wife of eighteen years, who birthed him two sons, and died of cancer shortly after the younger one reached two, was very different than him. While he was a veteran of the Vietnam War, and a hard-working farmer, she was a former seamstress. Up to when his sons could walk, then begin working on the farm, it was he who took care of it; his wife looked after the young, and the house that they lived in. He did miss that gal. Even after witnessing Billy being taken from him, he hadn't experienced a lapse in memory or pushed her from it—unlike the other old-timers out there, who were either on their death beds or fighting off one or more of them old-age ailments, he was still strong, able, and had full retention of his memory... which was a good thing, because it was beneficial to what he had in mind for the beast when it woke up.

"Billy..." Jack Taggart Sr. breathed.

While training his eye to the thing across from him, he remembered the day where he lost one of his children. Even though a lot had happened over the years, he remembered the events of that day so fluidly. He remembered them so well that he sometimes dreamed them when he took time out to slip under the covers of his small bed; while they caused him constant grief, they also reminded him of what he desired.

At one time in his long life, he was happy. With his having a wife, and two sons, and a farm to call his own, he felt complete. No more worrying about where he was to stay, or whether he or his family would have a roof over their heads, or food in their stomachs, and no more worrying about which bill could be paid and which had to be put off until later. The farm, which use to belong to his father, and was willed to him following his death, provided him and his family with everything that they needed. Sure, he had to repair certain bits of it, and had to do plenty of head shaking and wondering what the fuck he was doing, but he kept it and, what's better, it was still in the family. While he was glad to see the farm as still being in Taggart hands, he couldn't dwell on such niceties—following his son's loss, the word nicety ceased to exist for him.

The police report said that Billy was either "missing" or a "runaway". He wished he could throttle the bastard behind it, because he knew better. He, Jack Charles Taggart, had witnessed the kidnap, and had tried to stop it to no avail. His oldest son, who he and his wife named after him but routinely called Jackie, was there to witness it too. Jackie, who was twenty-three at the time, but was now married and had two children of his own, had seen the creature fly off like a demented moth with his younger brother in its clutches. Like himself, Jackie vowed revenge on the creature and stuck it through to the night where they took it down in a cornfield.

"Dad..! Dad, dad, dad!"  
"Billy! Biiilly!"

Even now, sitting on his usual perch, and feeling the late-afternoon breeze strike his backside, he couldn't believe what happened. The shock. The disbelief. The anger. The flood of emotion over losing a child, and the drive to teach the one who stole from him a lesson... It was all enough to drive a man insane and, while he came close to doing so, he retained his sanity by keeping himself focused on his son's memory. The boy who just turned sixteen at the time of his "kidnapping"; the boy who he loved oh so much; and the boy who he was denied the honor of watching grow up, marry, and then father children of his own. Like any other parent who lost a child, he felt an emptiness fill him when it happened, which had never gone away. Even in his dreams, he felt the empty feeling of one being without one of his children. It was like a nagging bee sting; even though the stinger was out, the searing pain was still there and so was the feeling you got after your arm started to react to the poison that was put in it.

Like with the shock over what happened, he couldn't believe who it was that was behind it. The creature before him was like nothing that he had ever seen. It was truly like what the sign professed it as being; what was even creepier was the fact that it had walked the soil and done its merry deed without so much as a hiccup—oh yeah, sure, it had probably encountered some issues along the way during its business, but it continued its business and, thus, claimed somewhere around forty lives. On the night that it was taken down, it was lacking an arm and leg and both of its wings; he and Jackie, thinking that they best collect it over just letting it rot into the dirt, had tracked its parts down and then stowed them away in their truck. Over the course of the following four days, they sewed the limbs back on, then glued the wings to where they thought they should go. It wasn't until later that they decided to rig the thing to the barn's farthest wall.

For close to two decades, and for $5 a pop, people who wished to see the "bat out of hell" could see it. For the ones who wished to snap a picture of it, a further $10 was requested—and they sure paid up that sum; it was either that or they were denied the freakish honor of photographing the beast and granted the privilege of being kicked from the premises. While some of the farm's visitors made comments on it looking fake, others were fascinated by it and by the tale that he and Jackie spun on how it was found and taken down. He still smiled over the bold ones, who were in such disbelief that they tried to touch it to see if it was real.

"Don't touch..." Jack remembered saying to them bold souls.

While he was stern in saying it, he never said it meanly. Or even insisted on the ones who were bold to leave the barn. He was calm while saying this, and he was always honest in answering the question that were presented to him after saying it. For the last eighteen years, he had answered this question so many times that he could probably answer it in his sleep. Was he waiting for something? The answer to that question was always quickly given—a certain amount of days, with an allowance of one to two more for the beast to awaken and for his revenge on it to be given in earnest.

Other than to check up on him from time to time, his son very rarely joined him in waiting for the creature to wake up. Jackie had a family to look after, and he also had the farm to take care of. He understood the man well, thus why he felt no negativity over his not being here to help him when the beast woke up. It was his hound who kept him company when he took to being at his perch. The dog was loyal and alert... a bit too alert these last two days, come to think of it. Like with himself, Ruby's gaze was focused on one thing; once in the barn, and beside his homemade harpoon gun, the set of sad, brown eyes would turn to look at the crucified abomination on the wall.

"Teach you who to mess with, Beast of Hell." Jack spoke softly while the afternoon breeze blew his hair into his face.

It was ironic, but the creature before him was nothing but skin and bones. On the night that it was taken down, it was stout and right fierce. It was no force to play around with, though he and Jackie had sure "played" with it on the night that it went into its weird sleep. He and Jackie had noticed several things about the creature right off after collecting its pieces then beginning the process of putting them back on its body. The skin was dark green, and mostly dry; with it being scaly, they almost considered calling it a reptilian of sorts. The hands ended in prehensile, reptilian hooks, or talons, if one so chose to use such a term, and so did its feet. While the face was obscured by some type of hood, that was webbed, and had hook-like claws on its ends, they remembered it well—the jowls were prominent, and had a possession of needle-like teeth in them; the eyes were blue-gray; and, except for the slit in its center, the nose was almost humanoid in appearance. Except for the patch of long, bushy white hair that sprouted from the back of its head, the creature was bald.

Perhaps the oddest thing about the creature, other than its reptilian features and the hood, was its wings. He and Jackie had noticed that they were batlike in origin, and rather tattered. When stretched out, they had a span of around six feet. How something so heavy was able to use them was beyond the both of them; with the way the creature looked, they were leaning towards two possibilities to what it was.

An alien of sorts, that was just making itself at home on the planet, and using its people as its weird means to stay alive, or a demon who just liked to create trouble. Whatever it was, both he and Jackie had pondered long and hard on whether to torture its sleeping body until it woke up then finish the job or just hang it somewhere and wait until it awoke. In the end, it was Jackie's then girlfriend who made the suggestion that they use the thing as a sort of tourist attraction. After stinking up one of the house's spare bedrooms for five years, it was moved to the barn then nailed up.

"And thus started the adventure of it being an "attraction"." Jack came close to smiling after saying this.

The weather said it was going to rain just before five, and it looked like this was to happen. Along with the breeze bringing the promise of rain, the sun's rays were starting to dissipate. While the light dimmed around him, he looked at the thing to his right. The gun was big, and almost vintage in appearance, and was covered in cobwebs and dust; despite the latter, he knew it would work when he went to use it. While Ruby shuffled to his feet, then shook and turned to look at the house, he remembered how the one harpoon in the gun had come to being made.

After taking Billy, the creature left something behind. A knife, but one that he had never seen before. The handle was, without a doubt, bone, which had been intricately carved into. The knife was sharp as shit, and could cut through butter with ease; while intrigued with the weapon, he was infuriated with the handle's design—he was almost certain that the image carved on it, which depicted a boy running from something, was of his son and he was also sure that the thing that the boy was running from was the creature on the wall. After seeing the thing fly through air, then become embedded in the wall of his living room, he decided to fasten it as the end of a harpoon then use it against its owner—he remembered stabbing the beast numerous times, and then it looking at him as its hood wrapped around its face, but the thing he remembered most was that he was unable to kill it.

"It isn't dead," the pretty, blonde girl said on that night so long ago. "It's time ran out."  
"Looks dead to me." Jack remembered saying back.

Even after stabbing it, the doubt was there on whether he really killed it. After getting over his ordeal, then seeing the kids into his truck and going to retrieve his son, he decided to collect the creature. It took close to two hours, but he and Jackie managed to find all the pieces then wrap them up in a canvas bag; some of the kids, who were injured in numerous ways, and more than a little terrified and tired, had wanted it nowhere near them... both he and Jackie forced them to quiet down, and to accept the ride back to the farm. Once the kids were all in the house, and had phoned their folks and gotten most of their injuries tended, he and his son took to removing the creature from the truck's bed then moving it to the room across from Billy's own—to this day, he still swore that it breathed after being nailed to the wall... which was the final shock given to that day's adventure.

Perhaps, this time, when it woke up, he'd be able to kill it. The creature's physique had withered to a point of extreme emaciation within a year, so he was sure that it would have little to no strength to fight him and he was also sure that he'd be able to pay it the way past dues that it deserved.

A smile crossed his face when he remembered the thing that "fell" off the creature. Even now, twenty-three years and two days after it was felled, he continued to think and call it a genderless thing when it did have a gender. Both he and Jackie had cringed when the phallus fell off the creature's emaciated body; neither of them wanted to touch or move it, but they did it to get it out of the house and away from their gaze. Instead of burying it, they burned it—the very idea of burying anything that was owned by the beast was infuriating and revolting, so the option to burn it was the most plausible one the do.

The two of them figured that more parts would fall, and that they'd do to them as they did to the root, but that didn't happen. Over the years, they saw that this was normal—a penis was muscle and, when not used, it dissipated or shrunk in size. While the idea of the creature being an active participant of using that thing was cringe-worthy in itself, he doubted if it had the pleasure of doing so. Going by how it acted on that night that happened so long ago, it probably just toted one around for show. It had no time to use it, Jack thought, and would surely have no interest in using it thanks to how it viewed humanity as its regenerative source.

"Supper!" Jack heard his daughter-in-law, a lovely woman named Abigail, shout from the house.  
"Mmmm," Jack mused, while his dog turned to look at him. After the dog pushed his muzzle into the crock of his arm, Jack sighed then started to get up. "Alright, Ruby. We'll go for now but we'll be back."

Maybe it was fate, or the thing on the wall knew of his presence and was waiting for him to turn or take his eyes from it, but it started to arouse from its sleep when he rose from his chair then started to leave. After standing tall, then stretching his stiff bones some, he turned then started the process of leaving the barn. Ruby, an old-breed hound dog, who was bred and raised on the farm, trotted on ahead of him; the dog didn't stop until he heard the sound of the birds, which started faint but grew thunderous in an instant.

Along with counting the days to when the beast woke up, he counted the birds that entered his barn each morning and afternoon. For the last week to week and half, the birds had congregated on or around the abomination. They never pecked at it, or even bothered it; they just landed on one of its outstretched limbs then waited. Waited for their weird friend to awaken, then give them its odd company, he continued to think.

In all, there were twenty to thirty crows in the building. With all of them sounding off like they were, he grew alarmed. While the little hairs on his neck stiffened, and the muscles of his back grew taut, he reached for the first of the barn's door. Even though he told himself to not do it, and to return to his gun, he started sliding the door shut; he was in the process of going to do the same to the other door when he turned to look at the creature. His breath caught in his throat when he saw what he did.

The hood, which had hooked itself around the creature's face, was slowly moving back. The taloned toes on the intact leg were twitching, while the ones on the sewn-on leg were still. The fingers on the hand that was attached to the arm that wasn't lost were stretching, while the ones on the other hand were giving a barely noticeable bit of motion that he thought was flinching. While watching the creature come to life, he grunted then moved to where the gun was; Ruby, who was slowly turning, then returning to the building, started baying once he heard him give the signal. The dog had just reached him when the wings, which were pinned to the wall, dropped to the floor. After getting the gun ready to fire, then getting behind it, he watched as the previously severed arm and leg fell from where they were sewn to; the creature, after the hood retracted and then settled back to where it was before its owner went into its weird hibernation, glared at him before shoving itself from the wall then falling to the floor.

"Enjoy picking the straw from your teeth you Beast of Hell!" Jack yelled while going to touch the trigger of his gun.

The thought of the harpoon becoming embedded in the creature, then of his hearing it give out a sound before dying, came to him for a micro-second. He envisioned his revenge as being complete, and of his taking the creature's remains out to be burned, and of his sleeping good tonight, while the birds took flight. It was them, and them alone, that caused his shot to miss its target. With all of them flying at him, and dropping their feathers on him and grazing him with their feet, he lost his focus. And balance. The birds' calls seemed nonexistent as he got up from where he was, then fought to get to where the gun was; somewhere behind and off to his right, he heard a dog bark, and then yelp. His blood ran cold when the yelp was cut off—Jackie had bred that dog! His son had bred a lot of dogs over the years, but Ruby was special. Unlike the others in the litters bore to the bitches that roamed the farm's grounds, they kept Ruby; to hear the dog's yelp being silenced like it was made him feel an even greater desire to off the creature.

He was just getting to his feet, and sliding the next harpoon in the gun, when his feet were yanked from under him. His balance, which had never fully been regained, was lost for a second time. The second he was on his stomach, he rolled over; his eyes grew large as he watched the beast lunge itself up his body—oh this feeling was as odd as it was repulsive... He was a very straight man, and to know that something that once harbored a penis was crawling up his biball-covered body sickened him. Even though he was disturbed by this event, he wasn't fast enough to stop it. The creature traveled quickly, despite lacking two of its limbs; it had only been two minutes since he went to his gun, then misfired, and it had only been a minute since he was assaulted by the birds and lost his ability to remain upright.

"Jackie! _Jackie, Jackie, Jac_ —"

If not for the creature's sudden movement of throwing itself the final foot up him, then plunging its index and middle finger into his mouth, he would of been successful in attracting his son's attention. Even though he was compelled to look at the creature, he noticed something behind it that made his already cold blood run even colder—the birds had returned to the barn. They weren't only feasting on the discarded limbs of the creature but were also having a merry ol' time with his dog, who looked to of been torn to pieces!

 _Shit!_ Jack thought after he turned his attention back to the creature, who was now staring him in the eye.

The anger present when it went into its weird sleep was still there, but the eyes were different. Instead of being the color that he remembered them being, they were close to being white. It was almost like they were covered in film, which made him wonder if it could see or not. The jowls were no longer prominent, and the face was no longer full. The hair on the back of the creature's head was still there, but it was so light that he could barely detect any of its previous color. While trying to wrestle the fingers from his mouth, and roll over, he saw the birds fighting over the "meal" that was given to them—crows were known scavengers, but he thought that these were a new species. Perhaps, they and the creature had a relationship going on where, whenever it lost or discarded one of its body parts, they would go to devour them, thus making them be like some weird parasite that depended on another for survival.

"Ge... oph... m—" Jack started to say around the fingers in his mouth.

The creature's eyes fell from his own only when it went for his arm. A little over twenty-three years ago, it lost its right arm after it went through a truck; he guessed that it decided to use him as its first victim, because it dove towards his arm then gnawed it off. He screamed while the needle-like teeth punctured his flesh, then split bone from bone. A puddle formed where his arm was a second later, then he grew to being faint as the creature pushed itself away from him then shoved his arm down its throat. While turning, then crawling away, he witnessed how the lost arm regenerated from the place where it use to be; he was just gearing up to yell for help when the creature's hand wrapped around his left leg.

 _"Aaaahhh!"_ Jack bellowed in pain as his leg was split from his body.

Once his leg was gone, and then, presumably, devoured and used like the arm was, he felt light. The idea of calling out for help escaped him. He felt like he was clean. All the impurities that he carried were pouring out from the two areas that were bleeding. As the creature behind him stood on its weak sticks for legs, then shook itself like a dog, he envisioned himself as seeing his wife and son again. The place where Billy and Claire were was beautiful, Jack thought, and he was about to join them. The regret that he felt over not being able to avenge his son's death was never thought of; while being passed by the thing that claimed his son's life, and that used him as its first means of regaining what it lost, he thought of how wonderful he felt and of how happy he felt to now be able to see the two that he lost more than two decades ago.

"Go home, Little Lamb, for the Wolves will getcha if you don't." Jack said while his vision failed him. As he breathed the last breaths that he'd ever breath on Earth, he watched as the creature stumbled down the path that led from the barn; before going into his final sleep, he saw that it was headed towards the cornfield.


	2. Chapter 2

The mid-morning sunlight was glorious, Patricia Jenner thought while stepping out on her porch. Once seated on one of the rocking chairs, then looking back towards the door when she heard a small bang, she looked out at the landscape around her. It was hard to believe that, one time in the past, she use to live in Florida; moving to North Carolina seemed weird at first, then she grew to like it and the change in mood it provided. If not for what happened to her and her brother twenty-three years ago, she'd be a very happy woman.

Patricia Jenner, the daughter of Maude Caudwell and Patrick Jenner, was an Honor Roll student at Stillwater High School, and then at the college of Bannon. While sitting where she was, sipping her coffee, and looking out at the bird feeders that decorated the trees in her yard, she thought of how proud her folks were of her. Proud of her for going through school, and getting the degree in Finance that she wanted to get while in high school. Proud of her for deciding to return to school for a further four years to get a degree in Forensic Science. Proud of her for finding "Mr. Right" at age twenty-six, then marrying and having two beautiful children by him. Proud of her for leaving "Mr. Right" when he turned to being an inconsiderate jerk and adulterer. Proud of her for keeping her head up, regardless of the pain that she felt over losing her brother—Darry was an annoying little shit, but she loved him... She loved him like a big sister should, and she missed him just as much too.

"Is he in there?" Patricia remembered her father, a tall gent with graying brown hair and brown eyes, asking after reaching the police station in Poho County.  
"Trish, you okay? You look to of seen a ghost." her mother, who she got her hair from, said after her father went into the police station.

Her parents were just as wrecked as she was over learning the details of what happened. Darius "Darry" Jenner, who was two years younger than her, and was prone to being a bit of a party animal from time to time, was nowhere in sight. After being taken by the bastard that dogged them, he wasn't ever heard from again; to that day, twenty-three years later, no body or word from him was heard. While a place in Stillwater Cemetery was picked out for him, it had no body in it. Since she knew what she did, she decided to never visit the place where her brother was "laid to rest"— _why when he's not there_ , Patricia remembered telling a good friend of hers once. _I can't speak to him, or know that he's in peace, and I know he's not in that hole, so why should I go there?_

After getting her degree in Forensic Science, she and her family moved to North Carolina. She and her husband, a man by the name of William Dodson, who had a degree in Agriculture, and was a farmer of sorts, had lived with her in-laws for two years before finding the house that she and her two children lived in. William tilled the land, and collected what grew in the fields out back, but he couldn't handle the selling of the goods or even manage the books; over the years, while shuffling her regular job and the chore of mothering her children, she took to doing them things. Along with working the bank branch of Shallotte, they made well with what was grown—this was good, because she didn't want her children to go without something that they needed for their growth or education. Even after discovering William in bed with his mistress, then running him out of the house, she kept her head up. The divorce was brutal, as they all were, but she won her freedom from the bastard and, what's more, got full custody of little Robin and Darius Jr.

"Darius? What kind of name is Darius?" she remembered William saying after their son was born.  
"The name I'm giving to our son." Patricia remembered saying back. "My brother was called Darius, or Darry, and so will our son."  
"John, Jacob, or William Jr. would seem a better fit for him."  
"No one asked you for an opinion on what he's to be named." Patricia came close to saying both in the past, when her son was born, and in the present.

While the back was taken up with corn and wheat, the front was clean. Her eleven year old daughter, and nine year old son, could play in it as they wished. There were four trees to climb or use the swing on. There was a flower garden to tend. And there was a small pond to fool around with. Her most favorite part of the yard was the driveway—it stretched long, from where the main road was to the small shed that acted as a garage, and it was covered in bright, white rocks that wouldn't cause a tire harm.

"If not for spring break being underway, the kids would be out in it." Patricia thought while going to pet the dog at her feet.

Robin had plans to spend the day at the beach with her friends, while Darry Jr. was off on his own somewhere. If not for her family being far from Florida, and the county where Hell was experienced, she wouldn't let her young a foot from her ever-watchful gaze. Worry over whether the beast would appear, then take another of her blood, would creep over her then come close to suffocating her if they were still in Florida. Worry over the creature coming to turn her life upside down, just to get a cheap thrill or two, or possibly to even put all of them in the loony bin, would make her come to being almost paranoid of every little sound around her. It was this worry, and this worry alone, that caused her to fight William to move from rural Florida then to North Carolina—to some other state, where the bastard who claimed her brother's life couldn't reach or be bothered to come to. While it took a year of fussing and fighting, she won what she wanted in heading north; even though she was happy to be in one of the two Carolinas, she still felt the pull to return to Florida and then teach a certain someone who not to mess the life of.

"Scooter," Patricia said after the dog tried to jump into her lap.

She and William had a lot of cats when they were married. Following the divorce, her ex took them then left. The house was free of the noise of animal feet padding on the floors and carpets for two years before the Border Terrier was bought and brought home; Robin and Darry had sure loved that! Like any other child, they doted on the puppy. Tricks were taught, tears were wept when untold things happened to it, and certain angers were expressed when it did something it shouldn't of done. The dog before her was close to three years old; his coat was mid-long, light red, and bright with health. She was surprised that Scooter was still by the house—Darry was the one to name him, and he was right attached to him. Usually, the two went anywhere and everywhere together; on this morning, Darry left hastily and didn't take the dog with him and the dog didn't seem to be minding of this.

 _Honk, honk!_

Even after the divorce, she retained her friends and even gained new ones. The one just driving by was one of the new gang. She was polite in waving to Martha, and she was mindful of giving her a call later on. Martha lived down the road a ways, but they saw each other often and, furthermore, were frequent visitors to each other's abodes. After the Mercedes went past, and she went back to her coffee, and to petting the dog at her feet, something caught her eye. It seemed that today was to be Friend Visiting Day, because a vehicle she knew was coming down the street. She watched the old, red Oldsmobile as it pulled into her driveway, then she stood and started the process of going to see who it was owned by as it stopped just before the shed. Scooter followed her for a few paces, then turned and ran towards the squirrel that he saw—even as a puppy, the dog loved chasing squirrels and, in fact, he had gotten into more than a little trouble while doing so. On one occasion, the dog chased a skunk and then a raccoon and, on another, he came close to being mauled by a fox. The yard was now maintained in one of them unseen, electrical fences that'd prevent the dog from leaving it or pursuing the critters that moved beyond it, so she didn't worry about the dog running away then getting into some type of mischief that'd need to be taken care of later.

The dust from the growing foliage, which was now coming-to from its winter sleep, blew as the Oldsmobile's driver's door was opened, and as her friend left the vehicle then came towards her. Before she even know it, Patricia was smiling and holding her hand out in greeting to the one who came to visit her—it was automatic that she dove into that southern hospitality side of her, that was so well-known to people who lived below Pennsylvania.

"Alice, so nice to see you." Patricia said to her friend. "Won't you come in and make yourself comfortable? How've you been?"  
"Going well on my end, though I think I need to entertain the idea of you inviting the guest bedroom to me." Alice replied.  
"You didn't!" Patricia came close to dropping her cup, then grabbing her friend in a hug. "Finally? After six months, you left him?"  
"Gave him the boot yesterday evening."  
"My gosh, let's go in and celebrate!" Patricia started leading her friend up the stairs of the porch. She had only just reached the door, which had a small doggy door attached to it, when she stopped then turned around. "The spare room's yours for as long as you need it."  
"Thanks but no thanks. I was looking to rent it for Charlie more than myself."

Yeah, like that was to happen anytime in her lifetime. Her friend was from old North Carolina and Kansas lines. Alice Burke was closing in on forty-one; unlike her, who had two children and an ex-husband, her friend was childless and had never married or settled in with one for more than three years. Alice was headstrong, alert, fiercely independent, and was often quiet around people that were related to her—over the last ten years, this latter side of her was almost retired. Her friend was a Virginia native; with her fair skin and light blue eyes, she didn't look Native American. One would have to look at her hair, which was the darkest of brown, and close to reaching her butt, to see the Indian in her—owing to how her friend kept her gaze down or away from the one that she was speaking to, one couldn't see the ancient look that was in her eyes, which also gave away her roots.

She and Alice had met one another one fine summer about ten years ago. Alice was looking to move down from Virginia, and set-up shop in Brunswick County, but she wanted to see about this trailer that she was interested in and, of course, look into the loan that she wanted to take out to get it. She was appointed the woman's care, and she handled the loan and everything that went along with it, and she also witnessed the day when she moved down from Halifax, Virginia to the sleepy little town of Ocean Isle Beach. While some bank branch representatives would go on with their lives, and forget about who they did business with, she didn't; she and Alice struck a quick friendship, which was still going strong to that day.

 _Arf! Arf! Arf!_  
"I see the Bear has treed a trespasser again." Alice said after turning to see what was going on behind her.  
"His usual. Now if only I could get him to do that with the solicitors." Patricia returned.  
"You and every dog-owner I've known would love to see that happen, but I'm betting the noise would get to you when they go after them at night."  
"Don't think solicitors come around after dusk." Patricia remarked.  
"Really? Then who'd I send away last night, at around suppertime?" Alice asked slyly.  
"The one who you should of left months ago." Patricia snickered, while her friend simply gave out a little snigger.

The living room that she led her friend into was spacious for a family of four. Even though the house only had three people living in it, they didn't overstuff it with junk that wouldn't be used. The couch was like that of a wicker bench, but had a white to near-cream cushion on its back and seat. The piece of furniture across from it was brown, and looked more like a traditional couch. The brown coffee table between the two had a few books and a vase with two, purple flowers in it on it. Under all three of these pieces of furniture was a blue-green floral rug and, under that, was a faint brown carpet. The walls around them matched the carpet, as did the ceiling, which vaulted, like any other living room ceiling would. With the exception of the desk beside the window, and the computer on it, the room was cozy, right down to the fireplace that stood across from it—seeing as she hadn't cleaned up her mess before deciding to go outside, Patricia went to the desk then started scooping the newspaper articles that were on it up. She was just reaching for the one on the bus that was attacked on East 9 when it lifted from where it was; if not for the hand that was attached to it, she would of freaked.

"You poor woman," Alice Burke said softly. There was silence between them before she said, "Dwelling on the past again?"  
"Guess you can say that," Patricia said.  
"They say that it's best to remember the past. Keeps you healthy, and helps you along in the present and future." Alice mused before giving the article back.  
"They also say it drives one insane." Patricia commented.  
"Only to the ones who dwell on it every day." Alice's eyes locked on Patricia's brown ones. "I see no madness in you. Just anger, which is normal for what befell you on that night."

Alice wasn't a stupe by any means. Even before their friendship started, she knew that she had an anger to her and that it was caused by something in the past. Patricia admired the girl, and appreciated the gesture of her not poking or prodding her for answers on things. It was only when they were on year three of their friendship that she told of the events that happened on that night; she remembered that they were having a drink at the local bar, and that Alice listened and didn't speak until after the last word was out. Alice had no siblings of her own, but she knew the pain that came from when someone of relation died or went missing—her uncle Keith did both after getting AIDs, Patricia was told once. After hearing her out, then voicing her opinion on it and giving some advice on how she should handle herself on moving on from it, her friend hugged her then paid the bill for their drinks. Alice was a strong woman, who rarely popped a tear or showed a fear, so she didn't come to her for help or a shoulder to lean on; it was usually the other way around... though she prided herself as being as strong as her from time to time.

After filing the newspaper articles, then putting them in the available cabinet beside the computer, she went to turn the computer off. She was in the process of moving the cursor to the button that'd shut the machine off when she realized that she was being rude—here she was, worrying herself over turning a dumb computer off, when she should be getting her friend a glass of lemonade or some other beverage and then sitting down to talk to her. After realizing her mistake, she stepped away from the computer then went to the kitchen.

"Lime or—" Patricia started to ask.  
"Don't run yourself ragged over me. Had a glass of water before coming over here, so I'm fine." Alice said from the living room.  
"You could of told me that before I came in here!" Patricia shot.  
"And miss the opportunity to have you worry about me?" Patricia detected the smile that was on her friend's face. After hearing that her friend wanted nothing, she turned then returned to the living room.  
"Was the break-up non-chaotic, or did someone get banged up a bit?" Patricia asked after sitting beside her friend.  
"Like with all the other half-testicle having men in my life, he barely gave a care." Alice's action of shrugging her shoulders showed that she was over it, and ready to move on to the next sap that came into her life.

It was quiet between them for a few minutes. In them minutes, Patricia took in the woman beside her. Compared to herself, Alice was quite burly; with her blonde hair, brown eyes, carefully picked and worn clothing, and petite body, she truly did look like her complete opposite. The jeans were already dusty, and were going out in the knees despite being newly bought, and the shirt looked about ready for the trash heap with them three holes in its belly region. The only halfway decent thing on her friend were her shoes—they were brown, made of leather, and had an inch and a half heel on them. Alice was a horsewoman, and was known to routinely ride a horse each morning and afternoon, so it was no surprise that she was wearing her boots. Patricia knew that her friend hoped to own a horse before reaching the age of fifty, and she also knew that her dream wasn't to ever come to reality—Alice Burke had a high school education, had two mediocre jobs, and was barely getting by each month. Even though she knew that her friend's dream was nothing but that, Patricia kept her mouth shut; let people dream, her mother use to say.

"Or, except for knowing that he has no place to live." Alice drove Patricia from her thoughts. "Mr. Charles Reuben Smith tried a fast one in saying that he was staying under my roof until he found a new one to move to."  
"Thus why you said you need to "rent" out my spare bedroom." Patricia winked.  
"Wouldn't put the squid on you, so you needn't worry on him moving in or mooching off you."  
"You need to find someone better than what you've been dating these last six years, Allie. Someone to be with, possibly marry, and have a kid or two with." Patricia was unable to stop herself from saying it. While the ghost of a smile appeared on her face, she chided herself for becoming like a mother goose to her friend—Alice was no longer looking for someone to marry or have kids with; she was just looking for companionship... and, sadly, finding all the wrong ones to be with.  
"It's 2,024 and you're still ringing out the lecture on one needing to marry the one they come to be head-over-heels with." Alice chuckled.  
"Marriage isn't all that bad..." Patricia found herself trailing off.  
"Must be getting ready to be winter again, for I'm hearing this from a woman who's experienced a divorce." Alice was gentle while saying this. "No, Trish. If I'm to get with someone, it's to be a plain relationship without the rings being exchanged. And I'm a bit too old to be bringing kids into the world."

Patricia looked at her friend then nodded her head. Yes, it was true that marriage didn't last anymore. For every ten people who went down the aisle, more than five went to the lawyer then did the work for it to be annulled. Adultery, disinterest, and distrust were all causes for this—in today's world, people just couldn't adult up and get along to stay together. While Alice could still have children, and she suspected that she did have one at some point in her life, Patricia didn't want to push the envelop by contradicting her on what she said in her being too old to have any—while Alice had opened up to her on most of her life, she had kept some bits to herself, which she guessed were too dark to be exposed.

"Take it that you just came from the farm?" Patricia thought she should get it out and in the open on why her friend came over. Usually, when Alice came over, it was late evening; a mid-morning visit was extraordinarily rare for her, which made her suspicious of her coming over.  
"No. Just came from the convenience store." Alice's voice became dark for a second before clearing up. Before speaking again, she stood then started digging in her pocket. "Was fired from 7-11 about twenty minutes ago, but I figured that since I just got paid, I should return what's owed to you."

About a month ago, her friend bowed to the pressure put on her by asking her for $40. Her phone was about to be cut off, and she was desperate in trying to come up with the dough to keep it on. Instead of saying oh, so sorry to her friend, Patricia gave her what she needed then forgot about it—or, at least until that morning. Even though Patricia tried to push the bills back into her friend's hand, her friend insisted on her taking them and in her not speaking about what she was doing. After the money was given over, Alice looked around the room, sighed, then stood up; she started for the door before Patricia could stop her.

"I'll be in touch." Patricia could tell that her friend was frustrated. Instead of going to her, then getting her to talk out her frustration, and help her through it, she just watched her go to the door. Alice wasn't one to let others in on her issues and, when one tried to pry them out of her, she did more than glare—it was either let her speak of them herself or let them bottle up in her, for it could mean the difference between her keeping her cool and blowing a gasket. Before Alice could let herself out of the house, then go to her car, she stopped then pointed at the computer. "You've got mail, Trish. Best hop to it in answering it before the one who sent it decides to find better things to do."


	3. Chapter 3

Darius "Darry" John Dodson, the boy who was conceived just six months after his family settled into the house that, now, just he and his mother and sister were living in, looked at the thing before him in awe. Ever since he was knee-high, he had harbored a love for scarecrows. Now that he was nine, this love hadn't wavered. If anything, it had grown. There was just something about the immobile things that guarded growing produce that captivated his imagination. Maybe it had something to do with this dream he had when he was three, or possibly with the toy that he was given shortly after it occurred?

His grandmother, just after she and his grandfather came up to visit him and his family for Easter, gave him this thing that looked monstrous, but so cool. While his mother was angered over his receiving it on his birthday, he liked it and so did his father. Robin seemed to follow their mother in either fearing or being angry at the thing, which was odd, because it was nothing more than a weird doll. Even though he was nine, and it had seen better days, he still had it and, better yet, it had a place all its own in his room.

The thing before him reminded him of the doll. The clothes weren't colorful, or baggy on the body that they were put on. They were dark, or close to dark blue in color. For some reason, the scarecrow was wearing shoes—normally, scarecrow's were shoeless, or just had straw sticking out from where the legs ended. The burlap bag, from which the straw was stuffed in, and was tied off on one end slightly so it wouldn't seep out, had a human face drawn on it. A scarecrow would usually have a crude face drawn on it, but this one's face was so detailed that he almost thought it was real. His buddy Curly, who lived just up the road from his family, and went to the same school that he did, was famous for making lifelike scarecrows and then rigging them around his parents' house on Halloween; the face on the scarecrow before him looked almost like what Curly's decorations had on them. The scarecrow was in typical standing position, with its arms stretched out and its body straight. It looked very lonely where it was, and it also looked weird without a hat—most scarecrows had them on their heads, but this one was completely bald.

 _Wonder if it lost its hat last night. A big wind did blow, after all._ Darius thought.

It didn't surprise his mother that his favorite character in the Wizard of Oz was the scarecrow, and it didn't surprise his classmates that he dressed up as him each Halloween. Last year's costume was the same as the year before's, and it needed an upgrade. That was why he left the house in a hurry; he wanted to check out the nearby scarecrows, and get some ideas on how to fix the costume up so he could wear it without worrying about it falling apart on him. His sister didn't go trick or treating last year—with her being on "the verge of womanhood", she thought the act of dressing up for the traditional candy hunting was childish. Instead of going out to get a big bag of candy, and having fun while collecting it all, she stayed home and watched romance movies. His uncle was the one to accompany him on that night.

"Think you got enough?" Darius remembered his uncle asking him about thirty minutes in on their outing.  
"Uh-uh! Ten more minutes, please." Darius remembered saying back.  
"Your bag's about to rip in the bottom, it's so full."  
"So. The more the merrier."  
"You're getting to be more like me every day, kiddo."

He and his uncle got along great. So great, in fact, that he almost saw him like a father figure. The man, who looked eerily like Gary Busey, was tall and muscular. While he wasn't that smart in some things, and was said to be a town drunk, he was in others; he couldn't help but be glad to have him as his uncle, and to be able to see him once to twice a week. In a lot of ways, Uncle Gerald was like the daddy he never had—the one who sired him was surely not apart of his life, that was for sure. Except for the occasional birthday card in the mail, he rarely heard a word from his father. The man hardly ever called too, which made the estrangement for him all the more real.

In a way, he knew this was to happen. His father, for as long as he could remember, was showing the signs long before the divorce happened. In the morning, before the bus came by to pick him and Robin up, he'd rush through his breakfast and then leave without so much as a word to any of them. In the afternoon, when he and his sister got home from school and he came home from work, he didn't stay in or around home for long. Mr. William Benjamin Dodson claimed to be working the fields behind the house, or checking into a sick friend of his, or some other wild thing whenever asked where he was; it wasn't until his mother called him and his sister over to the couch on that wet winter day that they knew something was about to happen.

His parents were fighting a lot between the time when he was two and four, and he sometimes wondered if the divorce was done because they couldn't get along anymore. After being told that his father was "going away", then seeing him pack up his things and leave the house, he and his sister tried the best they could to move on with life and get use to the fact that they had just one parent to turn to for help. Uncle Gerald, it did seem, had come in at the right time to fill the void where the two of them had no father-figure in their life and where their mother had no one of relation to turn to for guidance. From what he overheard one day about six months ago, his uncle was once married to a girl named Sally; due to her habit of "smoking like a son of a gun", and not wanting to put the "chew" down, she got sick and left him—while he didn't understand why Sally left his uncle, he did know that some people smoked more than ate and that some of them people got to coughing right bad thanks to it. Maybe Sally's sickness revolved around her coughing up a lung, or going into a comah or something. While he didn't know what "chew" meant, he figured Sally just chewed a lot of gum and it did something to her insides that made her even more sick—his mother was always telling him to not swallow his gum, because it'd make his insides stick together, after all.

 _Maybe switch from wearing sweat pants to jeans this year? And have a paint-smeared jacket on over a red or green shirt too._ Darius thought before going on down the trail that led from the scarecrow.

When the divorce happened, he wasn't surprised to hear that he and Robin were to stay with their mother. The idea of a child being most preferred to stay with their mother never occurred to him. He was too young to think of such things, and to think of how life would be if his father had custody of him and his sister. From what his mother told him, William Dodson lived in a small apartment in Varnamtown; it would shock him to know that the man really lived in a three-bedroom house with his girlfriend and their few-month old daughter. Not once since the two got their divorce had he heard of the man getting with anyone else, and he had definitely not spoken or caught wind of having a younger sibling.

Before his parents went their separate ways, he didn't feel like his sister was liked more than him. His parents treated him just the same as they did Robin, so he didn't have to think of who preferred who. A week after the divorce was done, and the cats were taken, he wondered if his father liked Robin more than him—just after he turned one, he seemed to want to hang around her more than him. Whenever he needed to go to the doctor, or needed a ride to some event that his mother decided to schedule him to, it'd be his mother who'd step up to take him; in contrast, the man jumped whenever something was learned about Robin. The man also seemed to be less cheery when his birthday came around—while he'd ruffle Robin's hair, and be all funny during the annual song, he'd either sit in a chair or be all in a hurry on his.

Even though these feelings were still expressed today, he had something else to wonder. On some nights, when he couldn't go to sleep, and on some days when he was eating lunch alone at school, he wondered why he was named Darius. The name seemed odd to him, and his friends were quick to point out how rare it was. While doing research in the Shallotte public library, he found that it was an English transliteration of the Persian name Dariush, and that it meant "he possesses" or "rich and kingly". In the same book that he found, he read that it also meant "He who holds firm to good". There were some very uncommon names out there, and he definitely thought he owned one—unlike his sister, who loathed history and did her best to steer clear of it, he liked history, which was why he knew why he was given his name and why he was sometimes called Darry.

At one time in his mother's forty-four years of living, she had a younger brother. Grandma Maude and grandpa Patrick named him Darius, but were known to call him Darry. Even his mother called his uncle Darry. The man that was his uncle was no longer around. The story that he was told went something like this: the man was kidnapped by some crazy person when he and his sister were on their way home from school. Along with hearing this tale, he was told that the kidnapper wasn't known.

He was shown a picture of his uncle once. The man looked almost like his twin, and was his grandfather's perfect replica. Or, except for the tattoo, that was. Patrick Jenner was a veteran of the second World War, and was a devout Christian who believed one needed to look after their body to be accepted into Heaven, so he was very against tattoos and any type of piercings—he had a feeling that the man didn't like his son having a rose tattoo on his belly, or that his daughter had her ears pierced.

"Or that Robin's ears are also pierced," Darius whispered while turning for home. "Just before spring break started, she got them done. Mom went with her, and so did her two friends, Martha and Alice."

Of the two women who accompanied his mother and sister to the local mall, he liked Martha the most. Martha was two inches shorter than his mother, and she had a wicked sense of humor. She no more came inside before breaking out the jokes and making him and his family laugh. Alice, on the other hand, was too serious. And tall! He had seen tall women before, but Alice seemed to make them look short in comparison. And Alice wasn't very girlie either. While Martha liked to wear girl clothes, like blouses, skirts, and fancy shoes, Alice liked to walk around in dirty or dusty jeans, shirts that had holes in them, and dirt-crusted boots. Martha had a better car too—the ride was smooth, the A/C and heat worked, and so did the windows.

From what he was told, Martha Johnson was closing in on thirty-nine. Unlike Alice Burke, who was unmarried and childless, Martha had a loving husband and three daughters. Martha's temper was a lot less triggered than Alice's too, and she wasn't so humbled by the act of asking one for monetary assistance either.

If there was one quality that Alice had that Martha didn't, Darius thought it was her paying one back for what was given to her. Martha was one to not pay one back for what was loaned to her. On two instances now, Martha had received money from his mother for something and had never repaid her for her generosity. Alice, on the other hand, about broke out in a rash when it came time for her to repay one for their help; while she was grateful for the help given to her, she was prone to getting frustrated after the funds were given over, which made him wonder if she was also ungrateful too.

Robin was almost the exact opposite of him when it came to their mother's friends. According to his sister, almost all of their mother's friends were pushovers who'd prefer to be given everything on a silver platter. The only one that Robin liked was Alice. It was just the way Alice presented herself that Robin didn't like—she thought she dressed like a slob, which was what he thought too. He couldn't remember a time where Alice wore anything nice, or girlie, or even did anything girlie.

"Along with working the 7-11 in her town, Alice works the gas store by the bridge that goes over the Intracoastal Waterway. When she's not working, she's at the Meadowcrest Farm." Darius said to no one in particular.

Robin knew the farm more than him, and she knew what Alice did there too. Along with mucking stalls, and looking after the horses that called the place home, Alice rode them. Horses weren't his thing, but they were sure Robin's. Robin loved horses. Ever since she was five, she couldn't stop looking at pictures of horses or even yell for their parents to slow down when one or more were seen in a field. To him, a horse was nothing more than a dumb animal that did nothing but eat grass and poop. Except for when Robin told of how well Alice was in looking after the horses at Meadowcrest Farm, and of how well she was when she rode them, he hadn't seen Alice ride them or even seen one break out from a walk. Judging by how Alice gave Robin something that revolved around a horse on each of her birthdays, he thought that Alice liked Robin; while Alice was nice and polite with him, and gave him something on his birthday, she gave off a different vibe with him that made him believe that she didn't like him as much.

 _Most of mom's friends have nice homes, and more than two pets. The only ones that don't live in a good home are Terri and Alice, and the only ones to not have any pets are Jill and Alice._ Darius thought after reaching the path that'd take him home.

This was understandable on Terri and Jill. Terri Whitmore lived in a small apartment, and she wasn't allowed to have pets. Mrs. Whitmore, who had partial custody of her daughter, and was on husband number two, had once owned a parrot and a Ferret. After losing her home to foreclosure, she had to rehome both of her pets; she always looked sad when this was brought up, which caused him and his family to not mention it much. Jill McMurphy, on the other hand, was allergic to anything that had fur on it and had a rich fear of anything that didn't have fur. When it came to Alice Burke, he thought it was plain laziness that was cause for her trailer to be looking the way it did and for her to not have any pets.

Martha White lived in a nice house with two dogs and a potbelly big, while Mark Weatherby lived in a very spacious apartment in town. Mark owned some goldfish and the smallest of puppies right now, which he was prone to call a Great Dane from time to time. Jose Garcia, who was the only other male friend that his mother had, owned a two-bedroom house on the outskirts of Shallotte county; along with having a rich love for ducks, he owned two and also had two rabbits. While he sometimes wanted to ask for a rabbit, or even a Guinea Pig, he was glad to have just Scooter to call a pet—when Lewis, Clark, and Oli were taken away, he felt lonely, so he was content with having just the dog as a companion.

"Shoot! I forgot about Scooter... I bet he misses me!" Darius said, then started running along.

While running along, Darius couldn't believe how different the landscape was. Just a short month ago, there was snow on the ground and the trees were naked of leaves. Now, the ground was lush with grass and the trees were in the process of growing new leaves to fill their various limbs. The farm that he visited was close to two miles from his home, so he had plenty to see while running. The first was the white-wash fence, which kept the just-planted crops contained as they grew, while the second was the red-painted barn and its gray grain silo. Mr. Francis O'Neil use to own cows, but he sold them all just a year ago then decided to go full-throttle on growing produce—Patricia Jenner, who use to go by the surname of Dodson, made a habit out of buying some of his carrots and cantaloupe's, which was why they never bought them types of produce at the local food mart.

Once past the fence, and away from the farm, Darius saw the various hills that blanketed the area. Even though Shallotte County was close to the beach, it had two farms and plenty of hilly terrain to run and play on—both him and his friends used the unfarmed areas to play on when they weren't in school and didn't have anything to do in town. While some of the area had trees or the occasional bush on them, the rest were clean; Henry Davis, his friend who was a year older than him, sometimes brought his BB with him when they came to the cleared areas while, when he and the crew went to the others, they brought kites or just rough housed. On the days where they didn't want to fly kites or rough house, they donned their swimming trunks then went swimming in the nearby Shallotte River, which was what the town was named after and which went through the town.

The town of Shallotte had everything a boy of his age needed. Along with a public pool, a library, and more than three schools, it had a gym and several restaurants in it. He and Jeremy Lewiston, who was in the same grade as he but being taught by a different teacher, were frequent visitors of the local convenience stores, while Robin and her friends either spent time in the Shallotte Mall or the nearby beach. While crossing the bridge that was less than a hundred yards from his home, Darius smiled—here he was, a boy of nine, who was thin, got all B's on his rank cards, and hadn't done a thing wrong in his life, in the place that he wished to stay in forever. If his mother ever decided to leave it, he was sure that he'd grow blue over losing both it and the people that he grew to love over the years. Even though his roots were in Florida, he couldn't imagine being anywhere where he was now.

 _Arf! Arf, arf, arf!_  
"Scooter!" Darius called after reaching the section of his mother's property, then starting to go through the maze of dead corn stalks that still littered the area. "Scooter! Scooter, Scooter!"

After exiting the section of yard that was taken up by corn, Darius rounded the house then went to the dog. Scooter stopped going after the squirrel that he treed at once. The dog bounded towards the boy, then jumped on him before wagging his tail then going to lick his face. The boy giggled, then placed the dog down; once the dog was on the grass, Darius picked a stick up then threw it. The two of them played fetch for ten minutes before the game was stopped and they went inside.

"Hi, mom. C'mon, Scooter, let's go play Super Smash Bros." Darius said after entering the house, then taking his shoes off.

As Darius went up to play his game, and as the dog followed him, Patricia nodded her head then answered the questions presented to her. She couldn't believe what happened. Between finishing her blog and seeing Alice, someone had seen it and then made the decision to reply to it. She had no more sat before the computer, and brought the email up, before the phone rang. The woman that she was talking to was nice, and she sounded sincere and shocked—if not for the revelation that was told to her, Patricia would be on the latter too.

The one on the phone's other end was called Mrs. Addison Hooks. Right now, she was talking a mile a minute. All the fine details of the last week and a half were being told to her, as was the astonishing fact of who started the new cycle. According to Mrs. Hooks, one by the name of Jack Charles Taggart Sr. was found in his barn on the twenty-third of March; his son, Jack Jr., was the one the find him and then call the authorities. If not for this piece of information, Patricia wouldn't of gasped—Mr. Taggart was the one who had the disgusting corpse of the creature that killed her brother, and he was also the one to deny her the honor of going to torch it.

"I understand that you lost your brother to this cretin, miss, but I lost my son to it and want to repay it for that when it wakes up." Mr. Taggart said fifteen years ago, when she phoned him then asked if she could come to his property to both look at the "Bat out of Hell" and then destroy it.

If not for a friend of her ex-husband's, Patricia wouldn't know of the Taggart's having the creature's body. Apparently, the Taggart's were using it as a tourist attraction. Even though she was given the offer of having a picture of it being sent to her email address, she refused to accept it—if she was to see the bastard that took her brother, it was to be in person and not through a computer. Just before leaving Florida for North Carolina, Patricia offered to buy the creature's carcass for $300 and was, sadly, denied the honor—Mr. Taggart was serious in keeping it, and in taking his revenge out on it when it woke up.

Even though she knew of the creature's whereabouts, she didn't trespass or even think about seducing his son into letting her into the barn for free. Back then, the creature's location was enough to satisfy her; now that it was awake, and had been for close to two weeks, she wasn't satisfied and felt a hunger to go to it to finish something that she should of done twenty-three years ago.

"I've been keeping up-to-date on when it's sighted, and have pictures of it if you want them." Mrs. Addison Hooks said earlier.  
"Can you send them to me, please?" Patricia remembered requesting.

Except for when it was newly awake, the creature looked exactly like she remembered it being. Around three days after killing Jack Taggart Sr., the creature was seen in Perwila County. It really did look like a former shell of itself—nothing but skin and bones, and the flesh was dry and light in color... If anything, it reminded her of the victims of the Holocaust. At the time of its first sighting, it was wearing nothing but a pair of tattered trousers that looked three sizes too big for it; over the course of five days, it gained a healthier physique and started wearing a dark green shirt and the nineteenth century duster that she remembered almost too well. The creature wasn't seen with its stetson, or boots, until later.

Over the course of nine days, it had claimed seven people... and one of them people was a fourteen year old boy, who was just coming home from school.

Her old nemesis, who took her younger brother, and changed the course of her life forever, was back and here she was, in North Carolina instead of Florida. If not for needing to keep her composure, Patricia would be ranting and raving and then going to grab her suitcase. The idea of the creature killing more people, and changing the course of more people's lives in the process, sickened her as much as infuriated her.

"You know what this thing is? You know what you're imply in your blog?" Mrs. Hooks said before Darius came in.  
"No." Patricia forced herself to not say the rest of what she wanted to say. While the issue of saying _and I don't care_ seemed legit to her, it might offend Mrs. Hooks. Instead of saying that, she said, "It's a demon of sorts, and needs to be taken down before—"  
"It's not a demon. Far from it, actually." Mrs. Hooks was a little rude in interrupting her. "It reminds me of the Scape Ore Swamp Monster..."  
"Only a lot more violent." Patricia remembered chuckling when saying this. Addison Hooks, who was so serious earlier, laughed too.

After running the memory of the Lizardman of Scape Ore Swamp through her head, then clearing it long enough to acknowledge her son, Patricia started listening to the questions presented to her on what could happen if she went through with what she wrote in her blog. The blog was long but very to the point—after explaining what the creature looked like, then what it did to her and her brother, and to the others that survived its destruction, she said that she wanted to find where it was when it woke up then destroy it. She also said something around the area of if anyone wanted to help her, or had information on the creature, for them to either give her a call or send her an email. So far, her blog was close to being two hours old and only one person had answered it.

"You intend to go through with it, regardless of the life that could be lost?" Mrs. Hooks asked.  
"My brother meant the world to me so, yes, I do." Patricia replied.  
"If I had a brother, or sister, and they were taken by the Creeper, I guess I'd do the same thing." Mrs. Hooks paused for a minute before going on. "While I'd like to stay clear of it, I'd also like to see it go down. Are you making a list of the ones who ask you if you want their help?"  
"I plan on doing that, yes."  
"Put my name on it, please."  
"I will, and thank you. May I add the number that you reached me through to it too?" Patricia asked.  
"Sure. If anything comes up, or its seen and photographed again, I'll be sure to get the evidence then send it to you."  
"Thank you, you're too kind." Patricia liked hearing this. Along with having her first recruit, she was to keep tabs on the thing that she was about to hunt; if her children were in the room with her, they would probably remark on her looking like the main villain of the 1999 Disney film, Tarzan.

After ending her conversation with Mrs. Hooks, then setting the phone down, Patricia looked at the room around her. The many photographs on the wall, which were mostly of her children, with maybe six or so flower portraits and pictures of Scooter, were what she looked at. So much could be lost if she still lived in Florida. Even though a lot could still be lost with what she had in mind to do, she didn't dwell on it; she was sure that she would survive, and that her foe would be permanently put to rest. There was no doubt in her mind that the creature would see her, would remember what it did to her, and then fight and lose to her—she was angry at it, and she was going to use that anger to her advantage no matter what.

After looking at the pictures of Darius playing in the mud, riding his bicycle, playing with friends, and being with relatives, and then at the ones of Robin playing dress-up, climbing a tree, and playing Cinderella in the fourth grade play, Patricia got up then went to the computer desk. There was a drawer on it that she always kept locked, and that she kept something in that was so precious that she couldn't dare let be left out where it could be hurt. After unlocking this drawer, which was under the one where the printer was, she opened it then took the thing in it out. In her hand was a picture of her, her classmates, and, most importantly, Darry and his friends. It was taken just before she and her brother went off on their ill-fated drive home; the car that she owned back then, which was a blue 1960 Chevrolet Impala, was quickly sold following the events of that day and she was glad for it. The creature did a number on it, and she couldn't bear to have it after what happened.

She and Darry had their moments back then. They had their moments where they fought like cats, or just drew one another crazy, or were cold towards one another, but they loved one another. She did hope that he knew she loved him still, and missed him terribly. If not for the events of that night, she'd still have her brother and her brother might be a married man with a good job, some kids to dote on, and a home to call his own. The theft that happened wasn't fair, and neither were the feelings that it brought on. Once the picture was in her hand, she drew it to her eye-level then spoke to it.

"It's time, Darry, that the son of a bitch that took you got the justice that it deserves."


End file.
